


the ties that bind us

by bilexualclarke



Series: never the same love twice [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Semi-Public Sex, also a bit of Squirting, also surprise they had another baby, and are super married, bellarke loves anal, get ready for the tags on this one guys, this is basically a family fic with a gigantic smut scene in the middle of the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilexualclarke/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: “You know,” she murmurs, lifting up the armrest so she can slide up against him, “this Avi guy looks a lot like you.”Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah, ten years ago, maybe.”“Ugh, shut up and take the compliment,” she says, nipping at his earlobe and feeling his cock twitch against her hand. “You know you’re still hot.”“Well, I need to keep myself in fine shape to keep up with my fine wife, now don’t I?” He winds his arm around her, his large hand grasping her ass.“What a line.”or, the one with Family Drama™





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> there's a huge smut scene in the middle of this that really is just for kicks and has no bearing on the plot, so if you're not feeling smut but still want the family feels please feel free to skip it :)
> 
> gigantic thanks go out to[@missemarissa](missemarissa.tumblr.com) for her eyes, her brain, and her blowjob PowerPoints

The front door opens and immediately slams shut, rattling the whole house. Clarke freezes, a pencil poised in her hand as she leans over Caleb’s math homework, listening to her eldest son’s heavy stomps as he storms through the house. When he reaches the kitchen, she finally looks up, her face schooled in a neutral expression.

 

“I’m _done_ ,” Jacob snaps, red-faced and panting. Clarke opens her mouth to respond, then she hears brakes squealing as Bellamy’s car rolls into the driveway, his car door slamming seconds later.

 

“Wait- did you walk here?” Clarke asks. “Why weren’t you in the car?”

 

The front door slams open again, just as loud as the first time. Clarke flinches, praying Ava won’t wake up through the commotion.

 

“I _ran_ here,” Jacob says, ignoring Bellamy’s thundering footsteps behind him, “because your husband is an asshole.”

 

Bellamy reaches the kitchen now, and he meets Clarke’s gaze over their son’s head. His eyes are burning, his jaw locked tight. She knows the only reason he isn’t screaming right now is because Caleb and Amelia are still sitting at the kitchen table, homework abandoned and staring at them with rapt attention.

 

“First of all,” Clarke says, her voice tight, “we do not use that kind of language in this house.” A lie, but she needs as many Mom cards as she can get. “Second, if you have a problem with your father, you address it like an adult instead of reverting to childish name calling.”

 

“Yeah, because that’s what you do when you’re mad at him,” Jacob says with a roll of his eyes. He tries to brush past her, heading for the back door, but Bellamy grabs his arm and yanks him backwards.

 

“You do _not_ talk to your mother like that,” he growls, spinning him around so that they’re facing each other. At nearly seventeen, Jacob is just an inch shorter than his father, and right now they’re practically nose-to-nose.

 

Clarke looks over her shoulder. “Go finish that upstairs,” she says to Caleb and Amelia. They don’t move. “ _Now_.”

 

The kids grab their books and scurry past Bellamy, who softens his gaze and gently pats their backs when they pass him. When he looks back to Jacob, his glare intensifies. They hold themselves the same way, both tense and possibly just seconds away from throwing punches. Not that they ever would, of course, but the aggression is there.

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “You two- outside.” She crosses the room and opens the back door, pointing out into the yard. At the sound of the door opening, Argos jumps up from where he was lounging on the living room couch and trots outside. Clarke looks pointedly at the dog, then back at them.

 

Jacob sighs and trudges forward, Bellamy hot on his heels. Clarke follows, carefully shutting the door behind her.

 

“Alright, now what the fuck just happened?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

“He’s ridiculous!” Jacob yells, pointing at Bellamy, who is seething at Clarke’s side. “Everything I do is wrong, he gives me split-second directions, and he told me I was going too fast when I was _five_ miles per hour under the speed limit.”

 

“You were taking a sharp turn and it was still too fast,” Bellamy says back. “But why don’t you tell your mother while I’m really mad, hmm?”

 

At this, Jacob has the decency to look sheepish. “I, uh, I got out and ran home. But it was only because he was driving me insane!”

 

“You pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway and ran across three lanes of traffic, Jacob Alexander. Do you understand how dangerous that is? You could have been hit and killed!” Bellamy yells.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Clarke says, grabbing Jacob by the chin and forcing him to look at her. He’s a good head taller than her, but she still cuts an intimidating figure. “What were you thinking? Do you know how dangerous that is?” She releases his chin and shakes her head in disbelief. “I thought you were more responsible than that.”

 

“I was going to leave him at a red light,” Jacob mumbles. “I figured at least pulling over was better.”

 

Bellamy and Clarke stand there in stunned silence. Argos trots over to sit in between them, waiting for attention, looking back and forth until Jacob finally reaches down to scratch behind his ears.

 

“You’re grounded,” Bellamy says with resigned finality. “Two weeks. You go to school, you go to work, and that’s it. No X-Box either.”

 

“But I’m going out with Kieran tomorrow night!” Jacob protests. His boyfriend had gotten his license two months earlier, and they had been going to see half-priced movies at the local theater on Tuesdays ever since.

 

“Two weeks, starting now.” Clarke says. The back door opens and Caleb pokes his head out.

“Ava’s crying,” he says. _Fuck_ , Clarke thinks. _Now she’ll be cranky all night._

 

“I’ll get her,” Bellamy says immediately, stopping Clarke with a hand on her elbow when she turns. She lets him go, then looks back to Jacob.

 

“I know he can be overbearing, but it’s just because he loves you.”

 

“I know he loves me.” Jacob rolls his eyes. “I just don’t know why _you_ couldn’t teach me. You worry in silence; Dad never shuts up.”

 

This earns him a chuckle. “If I were teaching you, all you’d learn is road rage. Besides, this is something that your dad wants to do with you- _for_ you- and no matter how… _much_ he can be, at least you know you’ll be learning the right stuff.”

 

“I guess,” he relents, ambling back towards the house. Clarke links her arm around his, Argos at their heels. “What’s for dinner?”

 

Clarke side-eyes him. “I was home and Dad was with you. What do you think?”

 

“You ordered pizza?”

 

“I ordered pizza.”

* * *

Ava Griffin-Blake was conceived in the backseat of Clarke’s SUV three years ago, after a night of one too many drinks celebrating Miller and Monty’s vow renewal. She was nicknamed “Oopsie” by her totally not-funny aunts Octavia and Raven, who knew Clarke had been stressed out from helping to plan the ceremony and had forgotten to take her birth control.

 

Clarke had been shocked, Bellamy had been thrilled, and it had definitely been an adjustment, but they were managing just fine. Bellamy had gotten a vasectomy shortly after they found out and Clarke got her tubes tied after the delivery, just as a precaution. Ava was two now, and though things can be a little hectic at times, neither of them would change it for the world.

 

That being said, having a sixteen (seventeen in two months, which Clarke still can’t believe)-year-old, an eleven-year-old, a nine-year-old, and a toddler all under one roof means that their schedules are quite busy, and finding _alone_ time can be a bit of a challenge. So when Bellamy comes home from work the following week and tells Clarke that he booked them a night at a fancy hotel a few towns over, she is understandably shocked.

 

“Are we all going?” she asks, already creating a mental checklist of things to pack for Ava. Bellamy shakes his head.

 

“O and Lincoln and going to stay the night, with Lily of course,” he says. “And they’ll get the kids to school in the morning. Now go get ready. Tonight is just about us.”

 

Clarke can’t ignore the thrill that runs through her at the idea. Between everyone’s busy schedules, she hasn’t had him inside her in nearly two weeks. They’ve collapsed into bed night, barely even able to lend each other a hand. This night is more than overdue.

 

Octavia and the gang arrive just after five o’clock. Clarke kisses all her kids, giving Ava an extra nuzzle before transferring her to Lincoln’s waiting arms. Bellamy leans over and blows a raspberry on her cheek, making her squeal. Then he kisses Amelia and Caleb’s foreheads before playfully tweaking Jacob’s nose and ruffling his hair.

 

“ _Dad_ ,” he groans with no real heat behind it.

 

“Be good,” Bellamy says, as if they ever wouldn’t be. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“We love you!” Clarke calls as she walks out the door. Then, to O and Lincoln: “Thanks, guys. We owe you one.”

 

Octavia winks. “Trust me, this is just as much for us as it is for you.”

 

Due to a scare with ovarian cancer when Lily was five, Octavia had opted for a hysterectomy, meaning that having more kids was out of the question. Clarke knew that it could get her sister-in-law down sometimes, but it was the best decision to make, and having four nieces and nephews living just ten minutes away made it a bit more bearable.

 

“How much do you want to bet O lets them ditch school tomorrow and takes them on some crazy adventure?” Bellamy muses as they get in the car.

 

“Ava’s probably old enough to go skydiving,” Clarke says, buckling her seatbelt. “She’d have a grand old time.” 

* * *

Bellamy offers to take her to dinner at a Thai place they like, but Clarke shakes her head.

 

“We eat dinner every night,” she says. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a movie in the theater that wasn’t rated PG. Let’s go eat overpriced popcorn and make out in the back row like adults.”

 

Bellamy throws back his head and laughs, putting on his blinker and heading towards the highway. “I love you so much, you know that?”

 

“I had a clue.”

 

They stop at 7/Eleven first to stock up on candy to shove in Clarke’s purse, because there’s no way they’ll spend four dollars on a bag of Skittles, and then they’re off. The local theater is playing a few blockbusters and one indie film about some college kid trying to film a movie in Tel Aviv.

 

 _“Lost in the White City_ ,” Clarke muses, looking at the poster outside of the theater. She points to a dark-haired man smoking a cigarette in the corner of the shot. “He’s hot. Let’s see it.”

 

Bellamy looks at her fondly. “Whatever the hell you want,” he says, following her inside. They order a jumbo sized popcorn with extra butter, and once they settle into their seats in the back right corner, they finish nearly half the bucket before the previews are over.

 

“When does the making out start?” Bellamy asks as he opens his box of Junior Mints and pours a few into his palm. He extends his hand to Clarke and she pops one into her mouth.

 

“Let’s wait to a bit to see if this is actually worth watching,” she decides.

 

“So the making out is contingent on the quality of the movie?”

 

“No, the making out is happening,” she says, digging into her bag for her Sour Skittles. “But if the movie is worth watching I want to know so we can find it online to watch later.”

 

“I married a genius.”

 

“Oh my God, really? Do I know her?”

 

“You wish.”

 

Overall, the movie is pretentious and the two main characters are fucking assholes. The hot guy, Avi, is the only quality addition to the film. There is a scene in a club where he starts to finger fuck a girl on the dancefloor, and the sight makes Clarke flush. She lowers the now-empty tub of popcorn to the floor and places her hand on Bellamy’s thigh. He doesn’t look at her as she slowly moves her hand upwards until she is cupping him through his pants.

 

“You know,” she murmurs, lifting up the armrest so she can slide up against him, “this Avi guy looks a lot like you.”

 

Bellamy scoffs. “Yeah, ten years ago, maybe.”

 

“Ugh, shut up and take the compliment,” she says, nipping at his earlobe and feeling his cock twitch against her hand. “You know you’re still hot.”

 

“Well, I need to keep myself in fine shape to keep up with my _fine_ wife, now don’t I?” He winds his arm around her, his large hand grasping her ass.

 

“What a line.” Clarke tilts her head up and he takes the invitation to kiss her, nibbling at her lower lip until she opens her mouth to him. She manages to unzip his pants and slip her hand into his underwear, teasing his hard cock with light strokes until he pulls back and looks at her, eyes dark and wild.

 

“Let’s go,” she whispers, and he’s out of his seat before she is even finished, hastily doing up his pants as they run down the steps. They slip out the back door of the theater, dumping the popcorn bucket in the trash, and race to their car, hand in hand. Clarke laughs when he pins her down against the hood and kisses her roughly. She lets him have his fun for a minute before pushing him back and hopping inside the car.

 

“Take your pants off,” he tells her as they pull out of the parking lot.

 

Clarke arches an eyebrow, but she already has her thumbs looped in the waistband of her leggings. “Why?”

 

“Because I want to touch you,” he says simply, and fuck, she can’t argue with that. She barely has the leggings down her thighs and his hand is there, cupping her cunt over her soft, silk panties, his middle finger pressing insistently on her clit.

 

“I want you to come before we get to the hotel,” Bellamy commands, his voice gruff and low and making her cunt clench around nothing. He slips his hand under the waistband of her panties and drags his fingers over the wetness he finds there, rubbing it over her throbbing clit. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

 

“I can do it,” Clarke says breathlessly, falling into her role easily. The commanding side of Bellamy that comes out during sex has always been present, and she has always loved it, but they had been experimenting with the more creative sides of their respective natures as of late. “Am I allowed to touch myself?”

 

Bellamy thinks for a moment. “No.” Her hands immediately clutch the sides of her seat. “But you’re a good girl for asking. You’ll be rewarded for that later, baby.”

 

A thrill shoots through her, a tingle starting at the base of her neck and dancing down her spine. She tilts her hips, giving him easier access. They hit a red light and he turns to look at her, the glare from the stoplight casting a shadow over his face. His pupils are blown wide, and in his eyes lies a promise that he has made and kept hundreds of times over.

 

Clarke bites her lip, trying to contain her smile. She knows she’s in for a good night.

* * *

 

 She comes right before they pull into the parking lot of the hotel. Bellamy parks the car one-handed, Clarke slumped over his right arm as she catches her breath. Finally, he removes his hand from between her thighs and licks his fingers clean. His eyes slam shut at the taste of her and Clarke watches the muscles in his cheeks tighten as he sucks her cum off each digit.

 

“Always so sweet for me,” he murmurs, unfastening her seatbelt and pressing a chaste kiss to her sweaty forehead.

 

“You’re going to have to carry me to the room,” Clarke jokes as she opens the door and steps out.

 

“I tell you what: if you can walk on your own all the way to our room, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for the rest of the night.”

 

There’s an older woman smoking a cigarette on the hood of her car a few stalls over. She lets out a low wolf whistle. “He sounds like a keeper, honey.”

 

Clarke throws a smile towards the woman, curling into Bellamy’s side as they walk away. “He sure is.”

 

It only takes a few minutes to check in and get their room assignment. Bellamy keeps a firm hand on her lower back the whole time, his fingers teasingly slipping below her waistband and leaving burning trails in their wake.

 

“Give me a few seconds to get cleaned up, okay?” Clarke says when they make it to their room. They’re on the fifth floor, not too high, but high enough that the view from the window lets them peer out at the illuminated city below them.

 

“I’ll miss you,” Bellamy says as he kicks off his shoes. Clarke rolls her eyes and he swats her ass as she passes him.

 

The room is fairly standard: a king-sized bed in the center, a TV on the opposite wall. There is a small desk next to a mini fridge, and a nightstand next to the bed. The bathroom has the usual sink and toilet with a generously sized shower. What really catches Clarke’s eye, however, is the gigantic full-length mirror on the wall by the door. After she freshens up, she strips out of her clothes and goes to stand in front of it.

 

At thirty-eight years old, Clarke’s body isn’t what it used to be. She’s taken up yoga and walking, so it’s not like she’s out of shape per se, but gravity has certainly been at work. Her breasts aren’t as perky, a permanent fullness has been added to her midsection, and stretch marks dance down her stomach and over her thighs. Her body is well-worn, having been home to her four children, and she traces the scar on her stomach from Ava’s emergency C-section, the result of a placental abruption late in her third trimester. Bellamy likes to trace it, too, with his fingers and his lips. Her body warms at the thought of his tenderness, and she turns and opens the bathroom door.

 

Bellamy’s back is to her as he turns down the bed. He stands in his black boxer briefs with the only other thing adorning his body being the watch she had given him for his thirty-fifth birthday. He wears it every day. Clarke leans against the doorframe, admiring the broad span of his shoulders and the muscles rippling in his back as his arms moved. He isn’t as toned as he was when they first met, but that doesn’t stop her from sinking her teeth into the flesh of his bicep when he fucks her into the mattress. 

 

“I can feel you staring,” Bellamy murmurs, turning to face her. His eyes rake appreciatively over her naked body. “Get over here.”

 

Clarke pushes off the frame and strides across the room. She skirts around him, out of his grip, and leisurely climbs onto the bed so she is facing him on her hands and knees.

 

“Looks like you’ve got a plan for me,” Bellamy muses, stepping forward so his thighs brush the edge of the mattress. Clarke smirks up at him and leans forward so she can press a kiss to his hipbone.

 

“Don’t I always?”

 

She scrapes her teeth lightly over his skin until they catch on the band of his underwear, pulling them down his thighs until his cock springs free. It bobs proudly in front of her before she captures the head in her mouth and sucks lightly, teasing his frenulum with her tongue before hollowing her cheeks and feeling the familiar weight of him in her mouth and down her throat.

 

Bellamy brushes a stray lock of hair out of her eyes then runs his fingers over her scalp until he can gather her hair in a knot at the base of her neck. He lets her suck him leisurely for a moment before his grip tightens and she stills. When she blinks up at him to give him the go-ahead, his hand in her hair locks her head in place. Clarke relaxes her throat and inhales through her nose as Bellamy slowly thrusts deeper into her mouth. Once her nose is pressed against the springy curls of his pubic hair and the head of his cock has found a home down her throat, he lets out a deep guttural groan.

 

“That’s my girl.”

 

Clarke manages to hold him there for a few seconds before her throat spasms involuntarily. She gags around him, and he appreciates the tight squeeze around his length for a moment before retreating, eyeing the thin line of saliva that stretches from her plump lips to the head of his cock. Bellamy wipes it and nods to the head of the bed. Clarke turns and situates herself on her back against the pillows, watching Bellamy stroke his cock as she arranges them behind her back and head. Once she’s ready, he climbs on top of her and settles between the cradle of her hips.

 

“Hi,” Clarke whispers when he looms over her, nose to nose. Bellamy presses a chaste kiss to her lips, a stark contrast to the mean glide of the head of his cock over her swollen clit.

 

“Hi,” he echoes. He softly brushes his nose over hers in greeting and then slips inside of her. Clarke gasps at the sudden but welcome intrusion, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. “God, I’ve missed you,” he growls. He pulls out slightly and then thrusts in again, their hips snapping together, starting a hard, steady rhythm. He fills her so perfectly, every thrust expertly hitting that sweet spot inside of her so that she can feel heat spreading all over her body.

 

They rock against each other, Bellamy’s fingers insistent over her clit and Clarke’s teeth scraping against his throat. Her beaded nipples drag against his chest, gently abraded by the smattering of hair there, making her toes curl. She comes for the first time like that, a sharp gasp followed by a low, moaning _yesyesyesrighttherefuckyes_. She’s still mid-orgasm when Bellamy flips her over and pins her against the mattress, denying her even a second to recover before he lands a stinging slap to her ass and hitting her deep from behind.

 

Clarke clutches the pillow near her head and uses it to bury her cries. She has always been loud in bed, something that Bellamy _loves_ , but she would rather their night not be interrupted by noise complaints, thank you very much.

 

“Fuck, baby,” Bellamy growls, “how does your cunt always feel so good, huh?” He slips an arm around her waist so he can rub her clit and bites teasingly at the meat of her shoulder. “How are you always so good for me?”

 

“‘Cause I’m your good girl,” she whines. “Harder, Bell, _please_.” She rocks back against him. “Give it to me harder.”

 

“You want it harder?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

“Beg for it, baby.”

 

Clarke licks her lips and looks over her shoulder. “Please,” she whimpers, not even having to fake how wrecked she sounds. “Please, Bell, I love your cock and I want you to fuck me harder. I want you to fuck me so hard I-I-” she hesitates, biting her lip.

 

Bellamy grabs a fistful of her hair and tugs just hard enough to send a bolt of pleasure straight to her clit. “You what?” he demands. “Tell me or you won’t get it, Clarke.”

 

“I want you to make me squirt,” she says in a rush, her face on fire. Bellamy grins wickedly. Her walls are already starting to contract around him, and he knows with just the right angle of his hips he’ll be able to fulfill her wish.

 

A big perk of being with someone long-term is learning what makes them tick. They’ve been having incredible sex for nearly fifteen years, and their ever-deepening familiarity has only made it more mind-blowing. Bellamy has learned that Clarke loves being fucked from behind. He knows that if he fucks her hard enough, deep enough, he can give her some of the most intense, beautiful orgasms he has ever seen.

 

Something he plans to do right now. Her cunt is dripping, painting his cock with her sweet cream. Every time he draws back his length comes out shinier, and he can feel it dripping down over his balls and staining his thighs. Bellamy releases her hair and shoves her head back down into the pillow, then uses his newly freed hand to press down on her lower back, changing the angle slightly. He slips in deeper with the next thrust and watches with a primal sense of satisfaction as her whole body tenses. _There she goes._

 

The head of his cock presses against her cervix while his fingers pinch her clit, and Clarke is done for. She screams her throat raw into the pillow as her cunt clenches down around him, a gush of fluid soaking their legs and the sheets below them. She rolls away from him, the stimulation overwhelming, and curls up into herself, legs shaking and soft whimpers escaping her. He follows, immediately caging her in his arms and wedging a hand between her legs. The heel of his hand grinds against her clit, helping her through the aftershocks while also keeping her close.

 

There has always been an emotional component to Clarke’s orgasms, and she feels better when she is held through them, something Bellamy has always been more than happy to indulge. It’s no hardship, holding his gorgeous wife as she experiences the sheer bliss that he was lucky enough to bestow upon her.

 

“That’s it, baby, there you go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. Her spasms start to slow, her desperate cries fading into content moans. “That’s my good girl. You’re so beautiful, Clarke, _fuck_.”

 

Clarke cranes her head back, her lips searching, and he captures them with his. He nips gently at her lower lip, letting her kiss him languidly until her body stops shuddering and her breathing evens out.

 

“Come on,” she says after a minute, grinding her ass back against his aching cock. Her voice is hoarse and her pupils are blown wide. “Your turn. Fuck me ‘til you come. I want you to come inside me, Bell.”

 

Bellamy grunts, slipping an arm under her thigh to hitch her leg backward over his. Her cunt is hot and wet and still pulsing from her orgasms, so tight around his cock that he can barely slide it inside. It only takes a few thrusts before he can feel his balls draw up. He erupts with a carnal moan, coating every inch of her cunt with his cum.

 

“God, I love it when you come inside me,” Clarke says, letting out a soft whine when he pulls out. She moves to roll over and face him, but Bellamy gently rolls her the opposite way so that she’s on her knees again, shoulders against the mattress and her ass in the air.

 

“I do, too,” he says, forcing her legs apart and grabbing her ass with both hands. He spreads her cheeks so her back hole is bared to him, and even after all these years, Clarke’s cheeks still burn under his scrutiny. Bellamy watches hungrily as his cum drips from her cunt, and with one broad swipe of his tongue he cleans it up.

 

“Bell, I’m sensitive,” she reminds him softly, but still chases his touch. The soft curls of her pubic hair tickle his chin.

 

“I know,” he says. His thumbs gently spread her cunt and he admires her clit, all red and swollen from his ministrations, begging for his touch. “Can I still taste you, baby?” He licks his lips. “Will you let me eat this sweet pussy?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes, craning her head around to watch him. “Yeah, eat me out, Bell.”

 

He licks into her languidly, savoring the taste of their combined cum. He lets it coat his tongue wash over his molars, not holding back his pleased moan when her walls clench rhythmically around him. Clarke arches back against his mouth, wordlessly begging for more. Bellamy pulls back runs his middle finger over her slit, teasingly slipping it just inside her so it’s coated with her juices. Then he runs it up her crack and lightly circles her back hole.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke cries out. “Oh yes, Bell, please finger fuck my ass.”

 

He laughs darkly, pushing his finger in to the second knuckle. Her jaw slackens at the delicious stretch. It burns in the best way, sending bolts of heat directly to her clit.

 

“Another,” she begs. “Another finger, _please_. Give me more.”

 

Never one to deny his wife anything, Bellamy complies. He reattaches his mouth to her clit, trapping the sensitive bud between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue. His cock is hard and ready to go again, and it takes all he has not to grind against the mattress as she comes all over his face with a wanton cry.

 

He very carefully removes his fingers from her ass and she collapses onto her side, giggling.

 

“Holy shit,” Clarke laughs, wiping sweat from her forehead. “That was...amazing.” She stands on wobbly legs, making her way over to the mini fridge and swiping a bottle of water. She moves to stand by the window, resting her forehead on the cool glass as she sips.

 

Bellamy comes to stand behind her, hands on her hips. “You know,” he says lowly, “I recall making certain promise to you earlier.”

 

“That you did,” Clarke agrees.

 

He presses his cock against the softness of her lower back, nipping at the exposed skin of her neck. “Looks like I still need to follow through.”

 

Clarke hums appreciatively but stills his hands from where they are wandering between her thighs.

 

“My pussy needs a break,” she laughs, kissing his jaw.

 

“I didn’t say I was going to fuck your pussy.”

 

His hands change course, gliding over the globes of her ass. Clarke inhales sharply.

 

“Oh. Well, that changes things.” She rests her forearms against the window and leans forward as he sinks to his knees behind her, spreading her cheeks. He licks a long line up her slit and over her puckered hole, relishing in her delighted squeal.

 

“Did you bring lube?” Clarke asks.

 

“ _Did I bring lube_?” Bellamy scoffs. He reaches behind him for his bag and plucks the small bottle out of the side pocket. “Never leave home without it.”

 

“Oh my God, shut up,” she laughs, kicking back at him. He traps her foot and tickles the underside, nearly making her topple over. “ _Bellamy_!”

 

“Alright, alright.” He drops her foot and pops open the bottle of lube, squeezing a generous amount onto his palm. He slicks his cock with most of it and paints the rest over her sensitive hole, slipping two fingers back inside to stretch her out.

 

Clarke’s hardened nipples drag over the cool glass of the window panes as she rides his fingers for a moment. It feels good, and she loves the feel of him stretching her out, but she wants it to feel _great_.

 

“Your cock, Bell, please give me your cock.”

 

“I’m coming, baby, I’ve got you,” Bellamy says, lining up his cock at her opening. “So impatient. You know I’m gonna take care of you, huh? You know I’ll make it good for my girl.”

 

Clarke lifts her right leg and props her foot on the seat of the chair next to them. He slips his fingers out and quickly replaces them with the swollen head of his cock, making her hiss. No matter how much he prepares her, the feeling of his cock stretching her hole always feels brand new.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke moans when he bottoms out. “I feel so fucking _full,_ Bell.”

 

“Is that right?” Bellamy says lowly. “You like it when I fill you up with my cock?” He lands a hard slap on the flesh of her ass then massages the sting away. “You like it when I fuck your ass like a little slut?”

 

“I love it,” Clarke pants, over and over again, as he starts to fuck her in earnest. He grabs a fistful of her hair and tugs her head to the side so he can reach her mouth. He licks the seam of her lips before forcing them apart and swallowing her moans.

 

“Such a dirty little slut,” he mutters against her lips. “Do you like that anyone could look up right now and see us? See you getting fucked in the ass?”

 

“I want them to see,” Clarke says. The angle of his thrusts allows him to hit her g-spot from behind and it makes her thighs tremble. She won’t be able to hold herself up much longer. Her clit throbs for attention, and as if he senses it, Bellamy brings a hand between her legs and pinches the sensitive nub between his fingers. “I want them to see how good you give it to me. How much I love it.”

 

“My filthy girl,” Bellamy says fondly. He rolls her clit between his thumb and index finger, then uses his middle finger to tap it at a maddeningly unpredictable rhythm. She nearly loses her footing, now having to lean entirely against the window, her heavy breaths fogging up the glass. Her cunt clenches around nothing and she feels her arousal drip down her inner thigh.

 

“Let me come,” she begs, breathless. “Bellamy, I-I need it. I can’t take it anymore please let me-”

 

He releases her clit and her words cut off as the sudden rush of the blood triggers her fifth orgasm of the night. Clarke’s legs give out as she crashes over the edge. Her vision turns white with pleasure, and she barely recognizes the fact that Bellamy caught her with two strong arms crossed over her torso. He brings them down slowly to kneel on the floor and Clarke collapses back against his chest. His dick is still inside of her and only once she is secure in his arms does he finally allow himself to come, letting the pulsing of her ass coax out every drop of his cum.

 

“Consider your promise kept,” Clarke says weakly. “I’m not moving unless you carry me.”

 

Bellamy huffs out a laugh, gently shifting her to rest on her side across his lap so that he can pull out. His cum trickles from her ass and mixes with her juices on her thigh. He can’t drag his eyes away from the sight.

 

“Come on,” he finally says, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” Before giving her a chance to answer, he scoops her into his arms, and she laughs until they’re under the burning spray of the shower.

* * *

 

  
** _Two Weeks Later_ **

* * *

 

 

“Clarke?”

 

“Mama!” Ava recognizes her mother’s name and looks up at Clarke with a smile. “You, mama!”

 

“Yes, that’s me, baby,” she says sweetly, pushing the shopping cart to a stop next to her car. She puts their few bags in the backseat and then looks over her shoulder for the source of the voice calling her, and she is in no way prepared for who she sees.

 

“Clarke, is that you?” Finn Collins closes the door of his car and crosses the aisle of the parking lot. “I’ll be damned.”

 

The last time she saw Finn Collins, Clarke was twenty-two years old and ten weeks pregnant with the baby he didn’t want. They had been dating for three months during the fall of her senior year at Mount Weather University, and when she decided that she didn’t want to get an abortion, he decided to tell her that he didn’t want to be a father and that oh, would you look at that, he never really broke up with his high school girlfriend at MIT, they were just going through a rough patch.

 

Nine months later, Clarke had a diploma, a baby, and a new best friend in Raven Reyes. Neither of them had ever heard from Finn Collins again, until now.

 

“Hi,” is all Clarke can say. Thankfully, he doesn’t go in for a hug, but he stands a bit closer than is probably appropriate. She takes a step back, keeping one hand firmly on the shopping cart and her body in front of Ava.

 

“Wow, it’s been a long time, huh?”

 

 _Is he seriously making small talk with me like I didn’t give birth to his child?_ Clarke thinks incredulously. She highly doubts that he has forgotten such a fact, no matter how much pot he smoked in college, and wishes he would just ask already.

 

“Yeah, seventeen years,” she says drily.

 

“You look different. Good different, though,” he says. “Happy.” He himself is still sporting the same mop of dark hair, a bit thinner and a bit grayer, and had grown in a goatee. He’s a bit thicker in the midsection and there are crow’s feet by his eyes. It reminds her of those CSI images where children are aged up. Though she hasn’t thought about him in quite some time, Clarke realizes that there’s no other way she could have pictured him looking.

 

“Thanks,” she says. Ava pats at her arm and she turns back to her. “Okay honey, let’s get you buckled in.”

 

“Is she, uh…” Finn trails off, stepping back so Clarke can lift Ava out of the cart and open the car door.

 

“My daughter,” she finishes, expertly fastening her into her car seat. Ava leans forward and peers past Clarke as she is buckling the last strap.

 

“Hi!” she says with a toothy grin.

 

“Hi there,” Finn says, waving back at her. “She’s cute.”

 

“She gets it from her father.” It isn’t entirely true. Looks-wise, Ava is all her. While Caleb and Amelia inherited Bellamy’s darker tones, Ava is blonde with bright blue eyes. She isn’t as pale as Clarke or Jacob, but besides that, she is nearly a clone of her mother.

 

Bellamy loves it.

 

“Her father,” Finn repeats. “You’re married?”

 

“I am.” Clarke looks pointedly at the ring on his own finger. “So are you.”

 

“Yeah,” Finn laughs lightly, looking down at the gold band fondly. “Alicia. She’s great.”

 

“Great.” Clarke smiles tightly. “So, are you going to ask me or not?”

 

He lets out a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. “You never were one to bullshit were you?” When Clarke doesn’t answer, he shoves his hands in his pockets and licks his lips nervously. “The-the baby, did you...you know, did you keep it?”

 

“I did.”

 

“You did.”

 

“He’ll be seventeen in a few weeks.” Clarke closes the door, effectively blocking Ava from the conversation.

 

“Wow.” Finn scrubs a hand over his face, shell-shocked. “Wow. I, uh, I have a son.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Clarke snaps, stepping forward. She still has her keys in her hand and she jams one at his chest. “You don’t have a son. _I_ have a son. My husband has a son. We raised him. We wanted him. Not you.”

 

“Jesus, Clarke.” Finn takes a step back, his hands raised. “I was just a kid, alright? Cut me some slack.”

 

“Well, I was just a fucking kid, too,” she hisses. “But I chose to grow up instead of running from my responsibilities.” Taking a deep breath, Clarke closes her eyes and wills her heart to stop racing. She is not about to make a scene in the parking lot of her grocery store where she knows some busybody is probably already watching.

 

“It’s in the past,” she says calmly. “We can’t change what happened. Hell, I wouldn’t even want to. I have a great life, Finn, and I love my family. In some fucked up roundabout way, I have you to thank for all of this, so…thank you. Now let’s go our separate ways and move on.” She opens her door and starts to get in.

 

“You can’t expect me to just move on knowing that my- that _he_ is out there,” Finn says.

 

Clarke whirls on him. “You will not go looking for him. You _will not_ try to contact him, Finn, or I swear to God-”

 

“Clarke, please, I want to at least know his name. I should know who he is, and he should know me.”

 

Her mind flashes to Jacob, four years old in a mini tux, watching her fasten her sparkly white heels.

 

_“Did you marry my dad?” he had asked, minutes before they were to walk down the aisle._

 

_“No, baby, I didn’t,” she had said softly, running a hand through his silky hair. “Why do you ask?”_

 

_“Did I ever meet him?”_

 

_Clarke’s heart lodged in her throat. “No, Jacob, you didn’t.”_

 

_“Why?”_

 

_She shrugs. “Because that’s how some families are. It was just you and me for a little while, and now Bellamy is going to be in our family, too._

 

_“Is Bell-my going to be my dad?”_

 

_“He’s going to just be Bellamy for now,” she tells him. “We can decide the rest later. Is that okay?”_

 

_Jacob thinks it over for a minute. His silence doesn’t worry Clarke- if she hadn’t already known that Bellamy and Jacob weren’t one hundred percent gone on each other she would have never even put the ring on her finger- but still, when he answers, she feels a bit lighter._

 

_“Yeah, that’s okay. Bell-my’s awesome.”_

 

Jacob is practically an adult, and a smart one, at that. Though he hasn’t broached the topic in years, she knows that he must wonder if his biological dad is out there somewhere. If she were in his shoes, she would, too.

 

Clarke’s hands shake as she reaches into her car and grabs a pen and paper from the center console. She thrusts it at him. “Here _._ Write down your number. I-I’ll talk to my husband and give you a call later this week. Maybe _\- maybe_ , Finn- we can work something out. Don’t forget that you have no rights in this scenario.”

 

He scribbles the numbers down eagerly and hands it back to her. “Thank you, Clarke. Thank you.” He flashes her a smile. “I know you’ll make the right decision.”

 

She feels sick the whole way home. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be one whole chapter but the second half is taking me forever to write so I figured I'd split it and hopefully the feedback from this will motivate me to get the rest done!

When Clarke gets home, she finds Bellamy sprawled across the couch, his nose in a worn paperback while Caleb braids his hair. His black, square-framed glasses slide down the bridge of his nose and he absentmindedly pushes them up with the finger he just used to turn the page.

 

“Dad, you have to hold still,” Caleb says, sliding another rainbow clip into his unruly curls. “If I don’t pull tight they’ll fall out.” He yanks on a strand to emphasize his point and Bellamy yelps dramatically.

 

“Most hairstylists don’t assault their customers, you know,” Clarke says with a smile, entering the living room. She keeps her voice low, careful not to wake Ava who is asleep in her arms. Jacob pads down the stairs and once she clocks him, she nods to the door. “Jacob, can you help grab some groceries from the car, please?”

 

“We’ll help, too,” Bellamy says, starting to get up. Clarke waves her hand dismissively.

 

“There’s not a lot, he’ll be fine. Plus, Caleb isn’t finished.” She crosses to them and presses a kiss to her son’s head, then to her husband’s lips. When she pulls back, Bellamy is frowning.

 

“Everything alright?” he murmurs. He places a hand on her hip and rubs his thumb over the bit of exposed skin from where her shirt has ridden up. Clarke smiles tightly.

 

“Fine. Let me go put her down then we can start dinner.”

 

Clarke ends up helping Amelia with her biology homework while Jacob and Bellamy prepare some spaghetti and meatballs in the kitchen. While they eat, Ava has more fun smearing the sauce on her face than actually eating, and Caleb has them all in stitches has he tells them about how Argos pulled his sock right off his foot when he was getting dressed that morning. After, once the dishes are cleaned and the kids are relaxing in front of the TV, Bellamy pulls Clarke aside.

 

“Come on, let’s go outside,” he suggests. He pours them each a glass of wine and grabs a throw blanket off the back of the couch. They sit on one of the lounge chairs on the back deck, the blanket protecting them from the late October chill, Clarke sitting between Bellamy’s legs with her back resting on his chest.

 

“You want to tell me what’s been bugging you?” he says after a minute.

 

Clarke gnaws at her lower lip. The worried skin splits and her mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood. She washes it away with a gulp of wine, not minding the sting.

 

“I saw Finn today. He recognized me in the parking lot while I was putting the groceries in the car.”

 

Bellamy’s arms go rigid around her. “What did he want?”

 

Clarke sighs, nuzzling further into his embrace. “What do you think he wanted, Bell? He wanted to know if I had kept the baby, and when I said I did, he…”

 

“He wants to meet him,” Bellamy says flatly.

 

“Yeah,” she whispers. She blinks rapidly, fighting back the tears that prick at her eyes. “I took his phone number, said I’d call him after I spoke with you… But God, Bell, I really don’t want him in our lives. He doesn’t deserve Jacob and he doesn’t deserve to just waltz into the life we’ve built and stake a claim on something he gave up years ago.”

 

Bellamy presses a kiss to the top of her head. “But?” he prompts.

 

“But as much as the thought sickens me, I don’t feel right keeping him away now that he knows. It should be Jacob’s choice. He deserves the option to at least know that Finn is out there.”

 

Clarke turns in Bellamy’s arms, craning her neck so she can look at his face. His jaw is set tight and he’s staring at a scratch on the wood of the deck.

 

“He’s _my_ son, Clarke,” is all he says, so low she can barely hear him.

 

Her lower lip trembles as she gently cups his cheek, urging him to look at her. “There is _nothing_ ,” she says, her voice cracking slightly, “that will ever change that, Bellamy. Finn will not take that from you, do you understand that? If you don’t want to meet him, if you think this is a bad idea, I’ll lose his number and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

 

Bellamy scoffs, a small smile making his lips twitch. “And then we’ll feel guilty for the rest of our lives.”

 

Clarke rests her head on his shoulder, sighing heavily. She traces the cut of his jaw with her fingertip, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he takes a generous gulp of wine. “Is it bad that I’m considering that alternative?”

 

“No. I am, too.” Bellamy pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Just promise me that whatever we do, we do it-”

 

“Together,” Clarke finishes. “Always, Bellamy. You know that.”

 

“I do.” He squeezes her tighter. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

 

Clarke peers inside, catching sight of her family through the sliding glass door. Jacob and Amelia have Ava poised atop Argos’s back, steadying her as she rides him around the room like a trained pony. Caleb crawls alongside them, and whatever he’s saying is making Ava laugh hysterically.

 

“No, it’s not,” Clarke answers. “But for them, it’ll be worth it.”

* * *

Next Thursday night sees Bellamy and Clarke sitting anxiously at a table in the back corner of _Costia’s_ , a fine Italian restaurant a few towns over owned by Clarke’s high school girlfriend, Lexa Woods. There is an empty chair across from them, waiting to be filled. When Clarke sees their server approaching, she quickly downs the rest of her wine before asking for another.

 

“How is it that I’m more nervous than you right now?” she murmurs when Bellamy slides a hand over her leg to still her bouncing knee.

 

“I’m more nervous about not being able to stop myself from hitting him than I am about actually meeting him,” he says. He butters a piece of bread and takes a bite. “Jesus, you told him six thirty, right? This fucker’s almost twenty minutes late.”

 

“Some things never change, I suppose,” she answers drily. Their server, a mousy brunette named Maya, reappears with her wine just as Finn walks through the front door. Bellamy’s grip tightens on her leg. She places her hand over his and he immediately laces their fingers together.

 

“Clarke!” Finn spots them and makes his way over. He glances at Bellamy. “And you must be the husband.”

 

Bellamy stands when Finn reaches them, catching the latter’s outstretched hand in what Clarke assumes is the world’s tightest handshake, if the straining muscles in Bellamy’s forearm is any indication.

 

“Bellamy Blake.”

 

Finn smiles tightly. “Finn Collins. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

 

Bellamy sits down without responding. Clarke takes another sip of wine.

 

“So, let’s get this awkwardness started, hm?”

 

Maya returns then to take their order. Bellamy orders the ribeye while Clarke gets the chicken francese, and Finn asks if they serve chicken fingers.

 

“Um, yes,” Maya says after a minute, staring at him quizzically. “They’re on the kid’s menu.”

 

“Perfect. I’ll take that.”

 

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Clarke mumbles under her breath. Finn turns his attention back to her.

 

“So, Clarke, I feel like I need to ask what you’ve been up to? Still doing that art thing?”

 

“You could say that,” she says drily. “I got a job illustrating for a textbook company after I graduated. The pay sucked and I couldn’t be creative at all, but I could work from home and that was the most important given that I had an infant on my hands. Bellamy and I met when Jacob was two, and he introduced me to his brother-in-law, Lincoln, who hired me to work at his gallery.”

 

She explains how, over the last decade, they’ve been able to expand and open another location, this one complete with a coffee bar and a themed event for local teens twice a month. She can’t help but peacock a little bit; she is incredibly proud of her professional work and she wants Finn to know how successful she has been without him.

 

“That sounds really interesting, Clarke. I’m happy for you,” Finn says, and he sounds genuine. “What do you do, Bellamy?”

 

“Bellamy was a detective with Arkadia PD,” Clarke says proudly.

 

“A detective?” Finn says, impressed. “Wow, you could have hunted me down this whole time.”

 

“We weren’t looking.” Bellamy’s voice is strained. Clarke rubs her thumb over his clenched knuckles as he continues. “Anyway, I’ve been retired since we had Ava.”

 

Too many close calls in the field combined with a surprise baby on the way had been all the motivation Bellamy had needed to turn in his gun and retire his badge. Now he does part-time security work with Miller, who had retired a year before him. They’re thinking about starting their own security business, but Bellamy has also been toying with writing a book based on one of their cases.

 

“She’s a cutie, that one,” Finn says with a smile. “Looks just like you, Clarke. Which reminds me, who does Jacob look more like? Me or you?”

 

Clarke fishes her phone out of her bag and pulls up a photo. “See for yourself.”

 

“Wow.” Finn enlarges the picture. It’s of Jacob and Argos, sitting on the dock at Clarke’s family lake house that past summer. “He’s beautiful.”

 

Clarke smiles fondly. “That he is.”

 

Finn continues to study the picture. “What’s he like?”

 

“He’s…” Clarke pauses for a moment. “Perfect. He’s sweet and kind and intelligent and strong and just…really quite perfect.”

 

“Huh.” Finn scratches his goatee, peering closely at Jacob’s face before he laughs. “That’s definitely my son. We have the same nose.”

 

Bellamy tenses, his fists clenching on the table. Clarke reaches over and snags her phone back.

 

“Do you? I’ve never noticed.”

 

Finn’s smile disappears.

 

Things do not necessarily get worse throughout the meal, but they certainly do not get better. After Finn refers to Jacob as his son for the third time, Bellamy slams his hand down on the table, shocking the surrounding area of the restaurant into silence.

 

“He is _not_ your son,” Bellamy hisses, leaning forward over his plate to jab his finger in Finn’s face. “You did nothing but contribute some DNA. Clarke is the one who changed his diapers. I taught him how to ride a bike. _We_ are the ones who’ve been there his whole life. We raised him. He is _our_ son, not yours.”

 

Finn sits in shocked silence, half of a chicken finger still on its way to his mouth. Clarke finishes her wine and reaches over to drain the rest of Bellamy’s whiskey sour. Maya tentatively approaches their table.

 

“Is everything alright over here?” she asks, wringing her hands nervously.

 

Clarke flashes her a tense smile. “We’ll take the check now, please.”

* * *

Bellamy doesn’t say a word the whole ride home. When they pull into the driveway, he takes the keys out of the ignition and rests his head on the steering wheel.

 

“Honestly,” Clarke says after a moment of silence, “that went better than I expected.”

 

Bellamy tilts his head up and eyes her doubtfully.

 

“Also, you yelling at him was pretty hot.”

 

Bellamy breaks at this, cracking up and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus, Clarke.”

 

“What?” she laughs. “You know I love it when you get all tough like that.”

 

“You’re unreal.” He leans over, cupping her cheek and capturing her lips in a searing kiss. When they part, he rests his forehead against hers with a sigh. “What are we going to do about this joker?”

 

“Jacob is old enough to make the decision himself. We should talk to him and see what he wants to do.” Clarke brushes a stray curl off of his forehead. “He’ll make the right choice.”

 

“I know.”

 

The house is dark when they walk in. Bellamy hangs their jackets up in the hall closet while Clarke heads into the kitchen to pour them each another glass of wine.

 

“Dad?”

 

Jacob appears at the top of the stairs, flipping on the hall light.

 

“Hey, bud,” Bellamy says, keeping his voice low. “Everyone asleep?”

 

“Yeah.” Jacob pads down the steps, skipping over the squeaky board two from the bottom. “Ava was a bit fussy but I got her down about half an hour ago.”

 

“Good man.”

 

Clarke appears, wine glasses in hand. She hands one to Bellamy and gives him a look.

 

“What is it?” Jacob asks, perceptive as ever.

 

Clarke sighs. “Sit down,” she says, leading them over to the couch. “Your father and I have something we want to discuss with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She is." Anyone else still hyperventilating?
> 
> come freak out with me on tumblr  
> (bilexualclarke)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alas, the end is finally here! I apologize for the delay, but I hope you guys enjoy the final chapter!

* * *

_One Week Later_

* * *

The outdoor mall is bustling, which is not outside the norm for a Saturday afternoon. It is the end of October, so there is a mild chill in the air, but nothing bad enough to deter the avid shoppers. Clarke pulls her car into a spot and parks, but she still has a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

 

“Mom,” Jacob says gently, “are you alright?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Clarke says tightly, releasing her grip on the wheel and turning to face him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

“I am,” Jacob says resolutely. “I think I need to.”

 

“You know I’m just a phone call away. I’ll be here for however long it takes.” She reaches across the console and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, bub.”

 

“Love you, too.” Jacob leans into her touch for a moment before sighing and unclipping his seatbelt. “It’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll be fine.” He opens the door and hops out, taking a deep breath before shutting it behind him and heading towards the line of stores.

 

“I know you will,” she whispers to herself. Jacob turns once he reaches the sidewalk and waves in her direction. She waves back, and once he gets to the doors of the food court, she finally lets the tears fall.

* * *

Once the doors shut behind him, Jacob’s hands start to shake. He keeps an even pace as he walks through the bustling food court, scanning each person for the face he had found on Facebook last week and had looked at every day since. Finn had told his mom that he would be waiting in the food court by the Starbucks, but when Jacob walks by he is nowhere to be found. Taking this as a blessing in disguise, Jacob ducks into the nearest bathroom and locks himself in a stall.

 

“You can do this. You can do this,” he murmurs to himself, bracing his hands on his knees and taking a shaky breath. “He’s just some random guy. He doesn’t even mean anything.”

_A random guy who happens to be your real dad._

 

Straightening up, he shakes the thought out of his head. He has a dad. His dad is Bellamy Blake, and although he can drive him up the wall sometimes, he is still the best dad in the universe. Finn Collins is just some guy who was an asshole to his mom seventeen years ago, and Jacob is doing him a favor just by showing up.

 

Confidence restored, he exists the stall—

 

—Just as Finn Collins walks into the bathroom.

 

“Oh, shit,” Jacob says before he can stop himself. Finn stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide, staring at Jacob like he just caught him stealing from the cookie jar.

 

“You’re Jacob.” Finn says after a beat.

 

“You’re Finn.”

 

“Yeah, I’m your—” Jacob arches an eyebrow and Finn cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “Yes, I’m Finn. It’s, uh, it’s nice to finally meet you, Jacob.”

 

Jacob extends a hand and Finn takes it.

 

_The key to a good handshake is a firm grip and three strong shakes. Any more and you’re too excited, any less and you don’t care. Let them know that you’re in charge._

 

His father’s words echo in his mind as he shakes Finn’s hand. The man gives an awkward chuckle when they release, rubbing his wrist.

 

“Quite a grip you got there.”

 

Jacob stares at him for a moment, taking him in. The greased back hair, the goatee, the faded ketchup stain on the breast of his shirt. Surely there has to be some sort of misunderstanding; this man could not be his real father.

 

“So…” Finn says, breaking the awkward silence. “Coffee?”

* * *

The barista is a petite girl with a bright smile and thick, dark braids winding down her back. She compliments Jacob’s Panic! at the Disco tee and when she turns around to prepare their order, Finn gives him a playful nudge.

 

“Hey, she seems cute.”

 

“She is,” Jacob allows, waiting for the line to come.

 

“You should ask her out—”

 

“I’m gay,” he says tiredly, before Finn is even finished talking.

 

“Oh!” Finn exclaims. “Oh, well…that’s…that’s, uh—”

 

“Order for Jacob,” the barista says, placing their coffees in front of them. “Have a great day.”

 

“Thanks, you as well,” Jacob says, grabbing both cups and heading towards the doors. “You coming?” he calls back to Finn. The man takes a few quick steps to catch up, taking his faux paus with him.

 

“That’s, uh, that’s cool. Very cool of you,” Finn says. “It’s the new wave. Seems to be what all the cool kids are doing these days, right?”

 

They leave the food court and step out into the sun. Jacob stops and takes a long sip of his dark roast, and then lets the heat of his coffee spill into his words.

 

“A year ago, I kissed my boyfriend in my own front yard. A neighbor saw me and said, to my face, that I’d better watch it because he doesn’t like having faggots in his neighborhood. I didn’t feel safe at home for _months_ , and queer other people have it so much harder than me—and _no_ , you can’t say that word. Just because society is more accepting of gay people nowadays doesn’t mean that we still don’t walk around with a target on our backs, dreading the day we run into someone who decides that we shouldn’t exist.”

 

The playful smile is gone from Finn’s face, replaced with a sickly pallor.

 

“So no, being gay is not some cool new trend that people are following in order to fit in. You’d be smart to remember that.”

 

“Jacob,” Finn starts, scrubbing his face. “That’s… I am… Wow, that was wildly inappropriate of me to say. I apologize.”

 

“You’re okay,” Jacob says calmly, turning in the direction of the Nike outlet. He hides a smirk in his coffee. “Let’s keep going. I need new sneakers.”

 

Finn, in a not-so-shocking turn of events, reveals himself to be an incessant talker. He comments on anything and everything as they wander through the store, though makes sure to steer clear of any kind of romantic topics. Besides his own wife, Alicia, who seems to be the most perfect woman in the world. She lets him “be a free spirit” and “do things on his own time”, which Jacob translates in his head to _“I have a lot of affairs and I have never mowed a lawn”_.

 

The two of them are former environmental conservationists, which sounded promising at first, until Finn says that they left their government-funded jobs to open up their own business as private nature tour guides. Jacob is noticeably skeptical, and so Finn makes sure to mention how lucrative the business is no less than four times. However, when Jacob finally decides on a pair of sneakers, the bragging comes to an immediate halt.

 

“I would, uh, offer to get those for you,” Finn mumbles as Jacob places the box at the counter. When the clerk scans the barcode, Finn winces at the price. “It’s just, business is a little slow this time of year, I need to watch the expenses—”

 

“I don’t need you to pay for my shoes,” Jacob snaps, unfolding his wallet, the one his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday. He doesn’t spend all his weekends, and a good portion of the last two summers, bussing tables so some random asshole can buy his shoes for him in an attempt to curry favor.

 

“Fine, fine,” Finn says backing off easily. “Just thought I’d offer. No harm, no foul. All good, bro.”

 

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Jacob mumbles to himself.

 

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon passes fairly quickly. Much to his dismay, Jacob does find some uncanny similarities between himself and Finn: they are both allergic to cinnamon, love chili cheese dogs, and hate Adam Sandler movies. Normally it would not be such a big deal to discover that you have things in common with a stranger, but Finn cannot help but wonder if these commonalities are simply coincidence or proof that this man really _is_ his father.

 

Of course, every time that thought enters his brain, he is immediately wracked with guilt. Even if he shares the same DNA as this guy, it doesn’t mean that he is—in any capacity—his father.

 

“Jacob, I have to say, I am very happy that you agreed to meet with me,” Finn says after they have spent two hours taking a lap around the mall. “It means a lot to finally see your face after years of wondering if you even existed.”

 

Jacob looks down at his feet, blinking back tears that he is stunned to find suddenly blurring his vision. He clears his throat, swallowing the lump, before looking Finn dead in the eye.

 

“You could have called.”

 

Finn blinks. “What? Jacob, I didn’t—”

 

“If you really wanted to know me, be a part of my life, or even just know if I existed, you could have called my mom. She said she didn’t change her phone number until she married my dad, and that’s almost four years after you guys split up.”

 

Finn takes a step closer, placing a hand on Jacob’s arm. He shakes him off and continues.

 

“Maybe you’ve finally grown up now or something, and now you want to make things right, but I don’t really care. You can keep my number if you want, but I have a dad already and I’m not interested in another one.”

 

Finn is blessedly silent for a moment. He takes a deep breath and nods to himself. “That’s fair. That is absolutely fair.” He extends a hand. “Jacob, I do mean it when I say it was terrific meeting you. You are a spectacular young man, and your parents are very lucky to have you.”

 

Jacob shakes his hand. “Thanks, Finn.”

 

And that’s when they part ways. Jacob turns and heads into the parking lot. He looks back after a few paces, turning around at just the right moment to watch Finn trip over his untied shoelace.

* * *

Bellamy is raking the leaves in the backyard when he hears the familiar sound of Clarke’s car rolling into the driveway. He whistles to get the attention of Caleb and Amelia, who are rolling around in some of his once-neat leaf piles.

 

“Hey, mom’s home!”

 

Argos beats them to the fence, his tail wagging a mile a minute when he catches Jacob’s scent. He paws at the wood until the latch opens and Clarke and Jacob pass through the gate, both leaning down immediately to pet him.

 

“Hi there, my little prince,” Clarke coos, pressing a kiss to his wet nose.

 

“Hey!” Caleb pouts, running over and crossing his arms. “I thought I was your little prince.”

 

Clarke plucks a leaf out of his hair and playfully swats his nose. “You are my medium sized prince, and Jacob is my big prince.”

 

“And that means Dad is the king!” Amelia says.

 

“Damn right!” Bellamy yells from across the yard. Ava had been asleep in her stroller on the porch all afternoon but of course had started to stir at the sound of her mother’s voice. Bellamy scoops her into his arms and blows a raspberry into her neck, making her squeal.

 

“Caleb, do you want to see my sneakers?” Jacob says suddenly, holding up the Nike bag for his brother to see. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

 

The boys rush into the house. Bellamy frowns after not even getting a greeting from his eldest. He shares a look with Clarke, who gives him a small smile and subtly shakes her head.

 

“Mom, did you find the headbands I wanted?” Amelia asks. “The ones with the blue butterflies on them?”

 

“I sure did,” Clarke says, reaching into her giant purse to pull out a small bag from Claire’s. She hands it to Amelia, who looks inside and lets out a high-pitched squeak.

 

“Awesome! Thanks, Mom!”

 

Before Clarke can reply, she rushes into the house. Ava wiggles out of Bellamy’s arms and waddles over to her mother, who scoops her back up.

 

“Mama!”

 

“Ava!” Clarke gasps with the same enthusiasm. “Did you help Daddy with the leaves today?”

 

“Dada weaf!” Ava says matter-of-factly.

 

Clarke nods sternly. “I’ve always thought so.”

 

“How’d it go?” Bellamy finally asks. “Did he seem upset?”

 

“He was quiet on the way home.” Clarke steps closer, into her husband’s embrace. “He said he was glad that he looks like me.”

 

“I am, too,” Bellamy murmurs into her hair.

 

“Too,” Ava adds.

 

“If something bad happened we would have heard about it already, and you probably would be trying to get my bail money together,” Clarke jokes, and she feels his chest rumble with laughter. “He’s processing everything. You know he’ll talk to us when he’s ready.”

 

“I know,” Bellamy sighs. “Damn, he’s a lot more emotionally mature than I was at his age. Why’d we have to do such a good job with him?”

 

“It’s a mistake we won’t make twice…or four times,” Clarke says, looking down at Ava with a smirk. Moving in sync, her and Bellamy both lean down to blow raspberries on her cheeks, and she shrieks in delight.

* * *

“Hey, Dad?” Jacob appears at the bathroom door while Bellamy is brushing his teeth. Bellamy spits into the sink and wipes his mouth.

 

“What’s up, bud?”

 

Jacob steps inside, leaning against the countertop. “I just wanted to say thank you. You…you didn’t have to be my dad, but you chose to be, and you’re the best one I could have ever hoped for.”

 

Bellamy feels his throat tighten and he quickly pulls Jacob against his chest. His son hugs him tight, and Bellamy blinks back tears as he presses a kiss to the top of his head.

 

“I would choose you to be my son,” he says fiercely, “every day, in every universe, in any situation. From the first second I saw you, I fell in love with you, and I love you more and more each day. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

 

He feels a damp spot forming on his chest, hears Jacob sniffle. “I love you, too, Dad.”

 

They stand there for a moment before pulling back in unison, both wiping their eyes.

 

“So,” Bellamy says, clearing his throat. “Tell me, what did you think of—”

 

“Total asshole,” Jacob finishes. “Mom really dodged a bullet with that one.”

 

“Yeah,” Bellamy smirks. “Yeah, she sure did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you feel like talking, I'm on tumblr as [bilexualclarke](bilexualclarke.tumblr.com) :)

**Author's Note:**

> if you feel like talking, I'm on tumblr as [bilexualclarke](bilexualclarke.tumblr.com) :)


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